


The Saga of Nick and Monroe

by supreme_genius



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: A/U, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supreme_genius/pseuds/supreme_genius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Monroe's journey from bromance to romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Saga of Nick and Monroe

**Author's Note:**

> Oneshot & unbeta'd

                “Ok. Here is my spare set of keys.” Monroe went through the use of each key for the third time. “I put the lights on a timer. Stop in once or twice and just check on things.” He sighed and furrowed his brow. “I think that’s about it.”

                “I’ve got it, Monroe. Your house will be fine. Just go and have a good time at your clock party.”

                “It’s a clock _convention_ , Nick.”

                “Yeah, yeah. Just go.”

                He walked out with a huff. I followed him out, shutting and locking the door behind me. I shooed him into the car and tossed his bag in the trunk for him. I waved as he drove down the street standing there until I couldn’t see his taillights anymore.

                I went home, kicked off my boots, and poured myself a drink. I plopped into the recliner looked around at the empty space, the bare walls. Juliette had taken a lot of our stuff when she left. In all fairness, most of it was hers or she picked it out. There were personal touches here and there – mostly souvenirs from day trips of antiquing with Monroe. He even picked out a nice mantel clock for me. I’d been in a rut after the break up but I bounced back quickly. Monroe had been determined to make me feel better and he succeeded. He may not always seem like it, but he’s a great friend to lean on.

XXX

“Burkhardt, I need you to go downtown and have another chat with our witness. I think she knows a lot more than she’s letting on.”

“Yes, Captain.”

XXX

                “Mr. Johnson, I need you to put down the gun. You don’t need to do this.”

                I had my gun aimed for the shot; so did he. Jennifer Smith – our key witness and an eisbiber I’d met through Bud – was standing next to me. She was the next target. A skalengeck – Eric Johnson – was killing all the wesen who were low on the food chain. He’d said that it was his duty to rid the wesen world of “low life scum.”

                He pulled the trigger and I pulled mine. In a matter of seconds he was down, taking his last breath. I holstered my gun and dropped to my knees. I pulled off my jacket and pressed it to the wound on Jennifer’s chest. I pressed as hard as I could, but she just kept bleeding.

                “Come on, Jen, stay with me. Help is coming.” I could hear the ambulance sirens.

She locked eyes with me and her lips curled into a small smile. “Thank…you…” She closed her eyes and one last breath slipped out.

“No, no, no! Come on. No!”

The paramedics had to pry me from her; I couldn’t let go. She was one of the sweetest people I had ever met. She always “forgot” to charge me for my doughnut at the bakery. She didn’t deserve to die like that. Had I gotten there a minute sooner…

XXX

I stood in the locker room shower, scrubbing the blood off my skin. No matter how hard I scrubbed I could still feel it – it was guilt more than blood. I should have saved her. Maybe if I was more of a grimm than a cop, I could have.

XXX

                “Burkhardt.”

                “Yes, Captain?”

                “Why don’t you take a few days off – clear your head.”

                “But, sir…”

“I’ll see you Monday, Nick.”

XXX

                I sat in my car, outside my house. I looked at it – big and dark. That wasn’t what I wanted, or needed, right now. I put the car back into drive and made my way over to the one place that had brought me a great deal of comfort over the last few months. I pulled up in front of Monroe’s house, in my usual spot, and walked up to the door. Then I remembered that he wouldn’t be home until tomorrow night. I had already made sure things were in order, so there wasn’t much to be done. I sighed and went inside anyway. I kicked off my boots and poked around. I helped myself to a beer and walked around aimlessly.

                Monroe had a lot of stuff in his house: clocks and trinkets and personal items. I made a mental note to ask him about some of the stuff when he got back. I browsed his book shelf – a lot of classics. Then his dvd collection – again, a lot of classics. It was weird – the comfort that Monroe’s house brought me, even when it was empty. He had a record player, so I turned on some music. He had mostly classical, which I actually kind of liked – though I wouldn’t admit it to him.

                I got a chill so I grabbed the blanket that laid over the back of the sofa and wrapped it around myself. I laid down on the sofa and curled up. There was no way that I was going to sleep alone in my big empty house tonight. The sounds of the cello record lulled me to sleep.

                I woke up, but not where I fell asleep. I was in the guest room instead of on the sofa. I rolled over and stretched, looking around. There were sounds of movement coming from down the hall so I got up to explore. Monroe was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, cracking eggs into a frying pan. I stood back for a minute just watching him. He must’ve known I was there; he stopped what he was doing and turned around.

                “Hey.”

                “Hey.” I walked into the kitchen. “You’re home early.”

                “Yeah, we cut it short – a bunch of people didn’t show up.”

                “Oh.”

                “You sleep here all week?”

                I shook my head. “Just last night.”

                He nodded and flipped around the contents of the frying pan. He poured two mugs of coffee and sat them on the table. Soon he was setting plates on the table and flipping an omelet onto each one. He sat down across from me and sipped his coffee.

                “You want to talk?”

                “You remember Jen? She’s Bud’s friend.”

                “The one that always gives you a free doughnut, yeah.”

                “She was involved in a case. A skalengeck was killing wesen he deemed “unwothy.” I was too late. He shot her. I tried to save her. I tried so hard...but I couldn’t save her.”

                “Nick, you can’t save everyone.” There was a softness in Monroe’s voice I’d never heard before.

                “I know.”

                We finished breakfast in silence. I did more of pushing food around my plate than actually eating. He disappeared for a minute and returned with some clothes. He handed them to me and shooed me off down the hall. I showered, letting the warm water soothe the aches and pains that had surfaced overnight. I got out and dried off. His towels smelled like him; it was comforting. I sat on the edge up the tub, wrapped up in the towel. A knock on the door pulled me out of the thoughts.

                “You ok in there?”

                “Yeah. Fine.”

                I tugged on the clothes Monroe gave me – jeans and boxers I’d forgotten I left here and one of his shirts. The shirt was a little big, but it felt good, like I was wrapped in a never ending Monroe hug. I stepped out of the bathroom and almost ran into the attic steps. Monroe had one of those attics with the pull-down stairs that hide above the hallway ceiling.

                “Come on.” He tugged on my shirt, pulling me up a step.

                I followed him up into the attic and back a few feet. We sat down next to an unmarked cardboard box. He took a deep breath before unfolding the flaps of the box. I watched him, hands shuffling through the contents, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. He pulled out a few photographs, a pressed flower, a copy of _The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe_ , and a lilac-colored sweater. The photos were of a couple – early twenties. The guy looked a lot like Monroe.

                “Her name was Erica.” He holds the sweater, stroking it with his thumb. “She was the love of my life. I had every intention of proposing to her.” He paused for a while before continuing. “She worked at the corner store to help pay for school. I would go and pick her up every night and drive her home. One night I was running late – Hap and I were running through the park doing our usual stupid shit. I got there and some guy was at the counter; he was giving her a hard time. Next thing I know, he’s pointing a gun at her. I don’t remember much after that. I know I ran inside, tackled him. He shot her before I could get to him. She died that night in the hospital.”

                “What happened to the guy?”

                “He was found guilty, sent to jail. I knew some people back then…one morning the guards found him in his cell, ripped apart.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                “So am I.”

                We sat up in the attic for a while, in silence. I thought about Juliette and how glad I was that she just left. I don’t know what I would have done if she would have died at the hands of a wesen. Losing a friend is one thing, but losing Juliette probably would’ve killed me.

It was early afternoon when we finally came down. We sat around for a while, watching dull daytime television, before deciding to go out. We went down town and mulled around a few antique shops and a used book shop. We stopped in a coffee shop for lunch before driving even further out of Portland. Neither of us had any kind of destination in mind, we just drove. Before I knew it, it was six o’clock and we were just outside Seattle – I hadn’t even remembered crossing over into Washington. I did doze off for a little while. We stopped in a few more shops before heading into a diner for dinner.

“Would I sound crazy if I said I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answered.

“Do you ever feel stuck?”

“Only every day.”

“Sometimes it’s hard trying to balance cop life and grimm life. I keep thinking that maybe if I was more of a grimm I could have saved Jen. Ya know?”

“Yeah. I think it’s admirable, though – you being more of a cop. You’re a good guy, Nick, everyone sees it.”

“Before she died…she thanked me.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

And that was that. We didn’t ever talked about Jen, or Erica, again. After dinner we started back for Portland, arriving at Monroe’s house sometime after ten. I didn’t bother going home, just crashed in his guest room. In the morning I did finally go home. I made a few calls – one of which was to a realtor. I decided to put my house on the market – I needed to move on, let go.

XXX

The house sold in mid-October. I bought an apartment that was a five minute walk from Monroe’s house and a ten minute drive to work. The things I had filled the small space well, giving it a cozier feel than that big house ever had – even before Juliette left. Monroe, of course, helped me fill any empty space with antiques and books and even a few clocks.

Things got better; it got easier balancing both of my lives. Monroe was obviously a wealth of support. As time went on, Monroe and I became even better friends. He became a lot more willing to tag along to hunt wesen with me. He got me to start eating a little more veggie-friendly. He even played his cello for me – after _a lot_ of begging, that is.

XXX

                We were sitting on the sofa watching _The Shawshank Redemption_ and demolishing a veggie-lovers pizza and a six-pack of Guinness. Maybe it was the beer getting to me, but I could have sworn that we kept getting closer to each other. By the time Tim Robbin’s character was crawling out of the sewer pipe, our shoulders were touching. I could feel my heart starting to race. When I turned my head to look at him, he did the same. Our faces were close, maybe a few inches apart at most. There was a part of me that wanted to close the gap, but the other part wanted to run away. I did the latter. I grabbed the plates and ran into the kitchen, immediately regretting my decision.

                Monroe and I had been spending a lot of time together, and I really enjoyed it. I was starting to think that maybe some feelings had surfaced. I just kept finding myself wanting to spend more and more time with him, wanting to go out to dinner with him, wanting to take him antiquing. I wanted _him_.

                When I went back into the living room, I sat on the other end of the sofa, keeping my distance. The movie was still playing, but I more or less just stared the screen rather than actually watching. I leaned over, laying my head on the arm of the sofa, and pulled my feet up on the sofa. I curled up, arms folded across my chest, and stayed like that until the credits started to roll.

                “Hey, uh, I’m gonna go. Got a gig pretty early tomorrow. I’ll text you or something.” Monroe got up and headed towards the door.

                “Oh, ok. Yeah, text me.” I was barely up to see him out when he was shutting the door.

                As I watched the door shut, my heart whined. I wanted to reach out for him, grab him, pull him close, and never let go. I turned off the television and the lights and wandered to my bedroom. I dug through my drawers until I found that shirt of Monroe’s that I was still borrowing. Well, actually I was keeping it. I was pretty sure he had forgotten I had it. It didn’t smell like him anymore, but that was ok. I stripped down to my boxers and pulled on his shirt. It still felt good, like a big, perpetual Monroe hug. I crawled into bed, curled up, and started counting sheep. I wondered, for a moment, about the possibility that I might sleep better if I had someone to share this too-big bed with. The last sheep I remember was 28 (which is Monroe’s birthday).

XXX

                I stood at Monroe’s door, a six-pack of Guinness in one hand, and a bag of veggie-friendly Thai food in the other. I was attempting to knock when the door opened and Monroe greeted me with a smile – which was nicer than his usual snark. He grabbed the bag of food and walked into the kitchen. I ditched my boots and coat at the door before following him. We ate in the living room, so we could watch the _Star Wars_ marathon that was on – we were both pretty big nerds. Somehow we ended up shoulder-to-shoulder on the sofa again, but this time I wasn’t going to run away. Being so close to Monroe made me feel all warm and fuzzy. I know that it’s totally cliché, but it’s the truth.

                The credits began rolling and Monroe stood up. He went to step away, but I grabbed his sleeve. He looked down at me, brow furrowed.

                “Monroe, can we talk?”

                His expression softened and he sat back down. “About…?”

                “Us.”

                “Us?”

                “Yeah. It’s just that…” I paused; I hadn’t really thought about how this conversation was going to go. “I want there to be an ‘us.’”

                “Um…ok…” His face was all scrunched up.

                I sighed; he obviously wasn’t getting the point. I leaned in and pressed our lips together. It was weird and his beard was kind of itchy, but it was nice. He kissed back, somewhat. I pulled away, already knowing my cheeks had turned crimson.

                “Oh… _us_.”

                “Oh no. You don’t feel the same. Shit! I’ve ruined everything. Oh god, I am so sorry Monroe. I’m just…I’m gonna go.” I got up, practically jumping off the sofa, but I was pulled back.

                Monroe had grabbed my sleeve – just as I’d done to him – and pulled me back, practically in his lap. One hand reached up, cupping my jaw, and gently pulled my face back to his. Our lips met again and I could feel him smile into the kiss. He kept one hand on my jaw and the other he wrapped around my waist, pulling me as close as I could get. I could feel my body relax; I breathed a sigh of relief.

My hands fumbled with his shirt, trying to undo all the buttons of his flannel. It felt like a lifetime had passed by the time his flannel was thrown to the side. The rest of our clothes were shed much faster and soon it was all skin on skin.

“M-Monroe…bed?”

He nodded and we quickly made our way down the hall, falling into bed, bodies never parting. Our lips met again, hungry and passionate. Our tongues danced – a battle for control that I quickly lost. This aggressive Monroe was a turn on. He knew all the right buttons to push and knew exactly what I wanted and needed. He nipped at my skin, paying special attention to my neck and collar bones. It felt so good; I knew all coherent thought was about to leave me. His skin was tacky with sweat as I ran my hands over all the skin I could reach. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer.

Our bodies moved together, every thrust driving me crazy. I moaned his name and I heard him growl. _Fuck_. I could feel my body tremble. _More, more, more_. Our eyes met, he stared down at me; a ring of red around blown pupils. Monroe nuzzled the crook of my neck, his beard tickling in the best way. His teeth – all of a sudden much sharper – grazed my skin. I fisted my hands in the sheets and tried to bite back my moans. Then I felt it – he bit me. His teeth sunk into the delicate skin of the crook of my neck. He was marking me, claiming me. It actually made my heart flutter.

He ran his hands over my chest, stomach; one hand wrapped around my cock. _Fuck! Oh fuck!_ My hands moved from the sheets to Monroe, grabbing at him, just wanting to touch, to feel. With every thrust I was getting closer and closer. I heard a growl rumble in his chest and when Monroe howled I let go. I cried out his name; orgasm hitting me like a freight train. I clung to him, never wanting to let go. We laid in bed, panting, tangled up in each other. I stole one last kiss before laying my head on his chest and letting myself drift off into sleep.

XXX

                I woke up with Monroe’s arms wrapped around me, which is a pretty great way to wake up. I lifted my head just enough to see the time; it was only six thirty. Soft snored slipped past Monroe’s lips; he looked so peaceful when he was trying to sleep. For a while I just watched him, his chest rising and falling. I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to waking up like this every morning. I laid my head back on his chest and let myself fall back asleep.

When I woke again, I was alone in bed. The smell of pancakes quickly hit me and I followed it out of the room and down the hall. I grabbed my boxers from the living room, slipped them on, then walked into the kitchen. Monroe was standing over the stove, clad only in pajama pants.

                I leaned against the counter. “Morning.”

                “Morning.” He smiled and flipped a few pancakes on a plate and handed it to me.

                I sat down at the table, slathered some butter and syrup on my pancakes, and did my best to avoid the awkward morning-after conversation. I knew it was coming and to be honest, I was petrified. It might actually break my heart if he wanted us to be some kind of one-time thing. He hadn’t said anything after I told him I wanted there to be an _us_ , just kissed me.

                “We should talk about last night.” I couldn’t read him like I usually could – it made me nervous.

                “Yeah, I-I um…” Of course I was at a loss for words.

                “I never really gave you a reply after you told me how you felt.” He paused, sipping his coffee – no doubt stalling. “I really like you, Nick, more than I ever thought I would…or could…”

                “But...?”

                “No buts. I like you and I want to be with you. I should’ve told you last night but I just got so caught up in the moment.”

                I smiled and knew a blush was taking over my cheeks. “So…”

                He let out a small chuckle. “So…”

                “Does that make us boyfriends or something?”

                “Or something…”

                “Hey!”

                He just laughed.

                “Let’s go out tonight, Monroe. Just you and me. Maybe dinner and a movie.”

                He nodded. “Or…we could stay in. I could cook you a delicious meal, open a nice bottle wine, we could watch a good movie – something better than those ho-hum blockbusters the cinema’s showing this week – and uh…maybe recreate part of last night.” He smirked.

                “Yeah, I think your idea sounds _much_ better.” 


End file.
